The Times Are Changing
by AberdeenFalls
Summary: Melody Wickleston's idyllic life in Canada is at an end. With the help of her mother and step-father, she returns across the pond to the safety of Hogwarts, to avoid the recently increased custody her pureblooded father has over her. She will soon realize it is not just her life that is changing, but the wizarding world as well as You Know Who continues to rise in power. Sirius/OC
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All settings/characters/recognizable Harry Potter things belong to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers

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Prologue

The curled locks of my bright orange hair blew about my face while I sat atop the light house, and gazed out towards the mainland from our small forested island on Lake Huron that my family owned, my eyes matching the green-grey waves that rolled against the shores, and there was a change in the wind. I could see the great grey clouds moving in from the east, that would soon pass over our house on the mainland, and make their way over the water to where I sat then, on my last night. There was a storm approaching.

The distant clashing of thunder nearly covered up the sounds of a person apparating behind me. There was no alarm or even a slight surprise. I had taken the boat from our house to this place, as I often did when I grew sad or angry. Most often I was left to my own devices, but not today. I knew one of them would come; it was my last day after all.

The dark olive skin of his hand was visible on my pale shoulder as he gripped it hard, and I knew he was upset also. "This isn't what your mother and I wanted for you, Melody." He began.

"I know, dad." I interrupted. He and my mother had said it so many times, but it did not change the inevitable event.

"If I had a choice, you would have continued to be homeschooled in magic. You would have finished middle school and high school and then gone to university. If it wasn't for your father, you could have had everything we would have wanted."

"You can't change the court rule, dad. And you may be my step-father, but you are my dad more than that pure-blooded prick will ever be." I looked back at Marc Johnston, my step-father, so different from the yellow-haired man that my mother was forced to marry, the reason I was here and the reason I was no longer safe. The British wizarding courts always favored purebloods and my biological father, Antony Boucher, was no exception to that. When they had divorced, my mother had received full custody and a restraining order, and had relocated herself to a new country for our own safety. I had been five then, old enough to remember the violence in our household. For a few years we were happy and my mother remarried a muggle-born wizard, someone who had happened to choose a career in the muggle world rather than the wizarding. He was a teacher at a high school in Ontario. We were happy for so long and free. I was home schooled in magic by my mother and Marc, and attended a muggle school by day. In the middle of my eleventh year, hell began to leak back into my life. My father had filed a new custody battle and won visitation with me for a few weeks out of the year. Those weeks were hell, and I was met with the same violence my mother had seen. Yet I had no one to tell, for the wizard who oversaw the visits initially ignored my report on the violence in order to gain my father's favor, and my mother had already been placed under the threat of violence if I were to tell her. I was trapped in isolation for those two weeks of the year, alone and subjected to invisible torture, though it was always ensured that not a mark was left on me, as only the head of St. Mungo's hospital would be able to guarantee. But I survived, and was happy when I was home.

It was now my thirteenth year and the third custody battle demanded my mother give my father even further parental rights. My parents tried to protest, but there was no escape, except for a single clause. If I was in a wizarding school, my father's access to me would continue to only be two weeks of the year; a limited time, as I would be living at the school. Instead of choosing a school in Canada, my mother had chosen her own school, back in England, claiming to trust the headmaster. Despite this seemingly good news, I was never able to look beyond the injustice of it all, and it brought me only sorrow.

"I hear Hogwarts is excellent and the headmaster is a great wizard. It was also your mother's old school." Marc said in an attempt to brighten me. "She told me she had many good memories there."

"It was also my father's school. There could not have been many good memories." I replied.

"They were in different houses, which meant different dormitories and friends." He answered softly. "I think she was in a house called Gryffindor and she had many friends and her own adventures."

"She barely speaks of such friends and adventures." I stated darkly.

"It is difficult for her to remember that life, but she was happy in school." He spoke quietly. "You will be safer there."

"I know." It was the only reason I was not screaming now. "I just wish there was another way, dad."

"So do we, Mel." And he hugged me as the rain began to fall and we found ourselves caught in the storm.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Danica." His voice echoes through the mansion and through the door to my room, decorated grandly in centuries old furniture, the colour a million shades of grey. It was strange, him calling me by my real name. Then again he had chosen it, my mother had no say in my naming. Danica… how pureblood. I was Danica when I was with my father, Danica Melody Boucher. It was not even my legal name any more. When my mother had remarried, my name had been changed to Melody Wickleson, taking on Marc's last name for my own, and that name was who I really was. I despised the name I had been given at birth, and yet it would be what I was known as almost all the time. My new life at school would trap me in my role as Danica instead of Melody, and I would be known by my father instead of my mother and step-father. The thought was torture, and stemmed a whole new level of sadistic behavior from my father. He was ensuring it would happen. He now had me leaving the house, becoming a part of his life, introducing me to people. All the while, the physical abuse became something more hidden.

I had never been hit by a cruciatus curse until yesterday. For the longest part of my time, my father had never used magic to harm me, bruises and cuts were easier to heal and hide, but the effects of magic could be more permanent. Though my father's anger had been heightened by Marc's plan to send me to Hogwarts, Marc was cunning and had twisted the court ruling back in my favor, using the law my father had used against him in a very cunning way. The failed attempt at extended custody had my father seeing red, and a few hours upon my arrival at the manor resulted in the curse. He had hit me from behind, no warning or threat and I remember falling and screaming as though there was no end. A thousand searing knives bit into me yet left no mark. I had been bed-ridden for the past 18 hours, and shook violently for most of them.

I did not want to move even as he shouted again. We were supposed to be leaving. He had an appointment at the Ministry of Magic to present findings on a case of misuse of magic against a muggle. I am sure he had found a way to ensure that the wizard who used the magic escaped punishment.

Upon the second call of my name, I rose from the bed and readied myself quickly. With my father, it was important to be presentable and to reflect our status in our appearance. I weighed my options on what to wear with haste. Elegant grey dress robes or muggle clothing? There would be no time to change my mind once the decision was made.

I was dressed by the third time he called my name and stormed into the room; long tan flowing skirt and a black tank, hair left down behind a head band and a decent pair of aviator sunglasses. I was going full-out hippie for the day and from the angered look on my father's face, it would have cost me, if we had the time. Instead, he grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me to the chimney.

"Has the mudblood taught you how to use flu powder before?" My father questioned harshly.

"Of course he has, he is a wizard, you know?" I answered dryly. It wasn't that I wasn't terrified of what he might do for the decision I had made that day. To not be terrified would have been stupid. No, it was that I knew his limits. I knew he couldn't kill me. Not because he loved me, but because there would be no escape after that. He would be in Azkaban prison. Knowing this made me push him. I wanted someone to see what he was doing, so that there would be no way anyone could doubt me. If he lost control in public, everyone would know what I was suffering here, and I could be free of him. The only problem was no one ever did see.

"Then go." He gave me a small shove into the fire place and handed me a container of floo powder. I took a handful.

"The Ministry of Magic." I said clearly and loudly before going up in a puff of green smoke.

The trial went as expected. My father had, of course, presented the evidence in such a way that there was reasonable doubt. The other pureblooded wizard would be let off scott-free, while some poor muggle man was left disfigured, with no memory of what had happened and no justice served. As is the way of the world. Especially here. It was no secret that groups of purebloods were coming together and claiming their superiority, and I knew my father was one of those people. It was all over the news headlines back home. Wizarding England and the rise of Fascist sects. It spoke of how the government had little control and there was a rumor of the rise of a Dark Wizard. There would be no punishment for the wicked either, for none associated with the groups or the supposed dark wizard had seen any jail time, even with muggle attacks on the rise by sixty percent. Some were even fatal. From what I understood, England was in a state of utter disarray and refused to acknowledge it.

Yes, the chaos and crime influx seemed to have no effect at all on the Ministry. There was no indication of a state of emergency, unless you counted the number of wizards and witches fluttering about worried about being late for some meeting and the letters floating about our heads, whizzing by in an inelegant manner. The lack of concern for the events taking place made me want to scream and the beauty of this underground network of offices was diminished. No, the marble floors and the great fountain in the main hall had little effect on me. These people were idiots, for the most part, it seemed. Idiots or Fascists… there seemed to be no other option, except for a few of the Aurors. They had presented a good case, it just wasn't good enough to handle twisted evidence, and they seemed to have too much honor to twist their own evidence. It's a shame, because they knew the wizard was guilty, and if they had played the same perverse game as my father had, the little pureblood would be rotting in a cell. Yes, in times like these, a little fabrication done for a good cause would have been well-suited. If I lived to become an Auror, I would have played judge and jury and done everything in my power to see that wizard in jail. McNair, I think his name was. Sometimes, moral lines had to be blurred to accomplish something for the common welfare of society, within reason. Yes, if justice only serves the wicked, then it was time to break the law.

I sincerely doubted that a streak of vigilante Aurors would happen here, though. I had not seen a single one suited or even capable of rogue work, not even the grizzily-looking one that approached my father, face scared and disfigured, false eye twitching about and his messy, dark haired partner, even less so.

"Boucher." The grizzily one called, causing my father to turn away from a conversation with a rather dull witch.

"Ah, Moody and Potter, the case is closed and my records are on file, what more would you want from me? Not that your company is unsavoury, but I have things to do, you see, a daughter to prepare for school. We were just on our way to Diagon Alley, since I am already off work." He said, indicating to me. His voice was oily, dripping with exaggerated politeness that should have come with a vomit trigger warning. "Danica Boucher, meet Auror Moody and Auror Potter. If you recall they were in charge of the case today."

"Pleasure." I chimed, and I was sincere. "And it's Melody Wickleson, actually. At least that is what my identification says. It doesn't seem right to present people of the law with a false name, even if it is my father's preferred one." It was my second strike of the day, and I was gripped with a little bit of fear, but this was my only form of control, for I would win no matter what I did. I would either embarrass him or cause him to take some violent action. A small form of revenge that would drive him to the edge of madness.

They nodded to me before turning back to my father and the scarred Moody spoke. "What happened in that trial was unjust."

"I was simply doing my job. I report my findings and the judge interprets them." My father stated lowly, a smile distorting his face. He was more suited for a grimace. It made him seem less threatening.

"Yet the findings contrasted what witnesses saw happen and even the victim's own memory."

"Often, after a traumatic and tragic event, a victim's memory may not be at its full capacity, you see. What exactly are you insinuating?"

"He is not insinuating anything. He is plainly saying you fabricated your report and used your silver tongue to make it believable." I commented loud enough for a few others to hear. Some ministry workers turned their heads now. The dark look I received was gone in an instant, but it was a promise for later. I considered it a look that indicated that there was no going back now.

"So, you lose your case and now you openly slander me in front of ministry workers?" My father asked.

"It's not slander if it's true." The one called Potter said.

"What evidence do you have that it is true?" And the Aurors could say nothing. "Just as I thought, slander." My father continued. "As always, it was a pleasure talking to you. Expect to have a complaint filed against you for your conduct. Danica, it is time to go. " With that he turned and walked away, but I lingered.

"You will not find any evidence that the reports are fabricated without a search warrant." I began in a whisper, "But if you want hard evidence that makes him a questionable witness and threatens his position at St. Mungo's, I would recommend looking at his hiring records, which are public, and see where you can go from there." A look of shock spread across both of their faces and I felt a gleam of hope in my heart. Perhaps my father would be facing charges for discrimination soon. It would be excellent to see what that set in motion. I tapped my nose and looked at them with a small smile.

"Danica, come along." I could hear the anger hidden beneath his chipper tone.

I gave the pair one last look, "Gentlemen, it's been nice knowing you."

My father did not have us go to Diagon Alley. No, we went straight home. And once out of the fireplace, a hand wrapped around my throat and I found a wand pointed at my chest. God, how simple was it to choke a person, because for my father it seemed so effortless. He did not even relent when I kicked and scratched; only easing up when he required me to answer his question.

"What did you say to them, when you lingered?" He hissed.

"Nothing, I swear." I gasped out and the cruciatus pierced through me to the bone. I slumped in his hold.

"What did you say?" He repeated.

"Nothing. I swear, I only gave them some career advice." I answered again.

"And what advice would that be?"

"That it would be better advice to drop the accusations now, before you ensure their dismissal." I whispered, but he raised his wand again.

"Do you think I would lie to you, knowing what you would do?" I cried, and he lowered the wand with a satisfied look, and let me fall to the floor.

"No, you would not lie, you are right." His manic smile had returned. "And your advice was for not, for I intend on seeing Moody and that blood traitor, Potter, fired, whether they continue with the accusations or not. It does not matter how long it takes. I am a patient man, as you know." And he began to walk away, leaving me on the floor, but before exiting the room he added, "Oh and Danica, we will not be going to Diagon Alley today, you do not look so well. In fact, I think it is for the best that I just get your school supplies for you."

The feeling he left me with was bittersweet. He had believed my lie and I had set something in motion that would probably prove beneficial to me. However, I had ensured my captivity in this house, with no small moments of escape.


End file.
